Broken

Disclaimer: Still don't own pokemon.

Michael laughed. "Kill myself? So what? I'll do the world a favor! I wish I could die!" he insisted.

The man- Wes- approached, his pokemon stayed where they were. "No, you won't. You don't understand how many people and pokemon you'll hurt. What about your pokemon?"

The two pokemon- Umbreon and Espeon- glanced up when they heard rustles. Michael's pokemon had awoken to find him gone, and now they were curious.

"My pokemon? They can go back to where they're actually happy! I don't want them to be where they'll only be hurt! They're… worse for wear here." Michael said, turning away to glare at the photo on the wall. One of his mother, himself- smiling-, and his little sister Jovi. His Eevee sat on his head.

Wes stared at him, dumbfounded. "You know, I think they'd rather stay here with you. Look at them, do they look worse for wear? Do they look unhappy?" he asked, throwing his arm out in the pokemon's direction.

Michael sent one glance at them before looking away. He didn't respond.

"Michael?"

"Well they should be!"

Besides Michael, everyone in the room jumped back in surprise. Vaporeon wanted to run over and engulf her trainer in a hug, to show him her love for him, and that she would never be unhappy as long as he was around. She would, too, if she hadn't gotten the feeling that would hurt more than help.

"No, no, they shouldn't be. Michael, you've treated them better than you treat yourself! You don't let anyone see it, but you do." Wes said, sighing and rubbing his forehead. He glanced at the group of pokemon. Several of them looked worried, frightened, and hurt as they stared at Michael's now shaking form. "Your Vaporeon is asking to know what's wrong with you," he said, and continued when he saw the question in Michael's near-dead eyes. "My Espeon is psychic, she can tell me what other pokemon are saying. And your Vaporeon-"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard! I know she wants to know what's wrong with me, but that isn't a good question… where to start? How about 'what isn't wrong with me'. That should be easier." Michael said.

Wes frowned, watching the child's breathing become uneven and shaky, watching him hold the knife tighter, and then loosening his grip, and then squeezing it tighter, and loosening, and so on. "No one ever said that there was actually something wrong with you. You're just a little confused." He said.

Wes's Espeon put her tail around Vaporeon gently as tears fell from the pokemon's black, hurting eyes. She had known something was wrong; that was why she and all of Michael's other pokemon had called in the only person that could help. But she had in the mean time done nothing to help him. And now he was hurting to a seemingly unfixable extent.

"I'm not confused! Okay? I was bad, I'm a failure! Would you look at what I did? All of those poor pokemon…" Michael said.

"You saved all of those poor pokemon!" Wes insisted, finally fully approaching the hurting boy. He gripped the boy's wrist, making him hiss in pain and try to escape. "I think that you need to come with me for a minute. Now put down the knife. You aren't helping anyone by hurting yourself." He said, yanking the teen.

The knife escaped his grasp, and he was tugged along angrily. "No! No, let me go, you don't understand!"

Wes dragged Michael outside. No one tried to stop him except for Michael himself. He stopped beside the water fixture, and spun him around. "I understand a lot better than you know. I went through the same horrors that you are, and I am not letting you go through them anymore." He hissed.

Michael shook his head desperately. "I was bad! I didn't trust my pokemon! I thought that they were dead! And I have to… I have to get the bad out!" he said.

"You weren't bad! That is very common! It's not that you didn't trust them, it's that your imagination is going a little haywire." Wes explained. He leaned back against the bar that was on the outside of the path. He pulled the child to him.

Nervously, Michael leaned forward on the bar, staring into the water of the pond, wanting to jump in and drown himself just a tiny bit. "No, I…" he didn't know what to say. So he figured that asking a question couldn't be worse. He was already too far in the wrong to come back, right? "How do you know who I am? Or better yet, how do you know what I do to myself?" he asked.

At that, Wes smiled. "who doesn't know who you are? You saved the entire region from the single worst syndicate in the world. You've saved the lives of tens of hundreds of people and pokemon. And, to answer your other question, I've been watching you since you captured Teddiursa. I've watched every single cut you made. And I could only come when you called for help. You, or more specifically, your pokemon."

Michael's eyebrows raised. "My pokemon called you?" he asked.

"Yes, they did. They knew that you were hurting, and so they called the only person who knows and understands what it is that you're going through." Wes explained, staring into the water, watching the reflection of the moon.

Michael positioned himself more comfortably. "oh… you said… that you understand…"

"Yes. I understand why you do this," Wes said, reaching over and tugging on the sleeve of the redhead's pajamas, revealing dozens of nasty scars. He ran his thumb over each one. Michael seemed uncomfortable that he was touching them, finally just tugging his arm away and looking around, afraid someone had seen his wrongness. "One for every capture, hnn? And one for every nightmare." Wes continued, glancing at Michael's face. Tears started to drip from the redhead's face.

"Well… I had to get the bad out somehow, right? I was stealing from all of those trainers. I stole some of their pokemon, and now they're in a living hell. If they weren't so determined to stay I'd send them back." Michael whispered.

Wes rolled his sleeves back. "I understand where you're coming from, but that's not the right way! You're hurting not just yourself but others as well." He gently rested his hand on top of Michael's, squeezing it anxiously.

It was almost like a signal to him. Michael gripped Wes's wrist and turned his arm over. There, just like on Michael's, were scars. "Is this what you mean?" he asked.

Wes glanced down at his own scars. "You heard of the Shadow Incident about six years ago, right? How there was a man that was capturing Shadow pokemon and purifying them and using them to stop the progression of the evil Cipher?" he said.

Michael nodded, his eyes still on Wes's scars. "You had to get the bad out too, right? That's why you… cut…" he whispered, more tears flooding his eyes and spilling over. He lifted his arm to wipe them away desperately.

"Yeah. Something along those lines. So I know what it's like. And I know that I cannot allow you to live with those horrors until you die. That's why I'm here." Wes said, shaking his head and sighing.

Michael sat, silent and still, for just a few moments. Then he piped up, "They don't look recent. Either you got all the bad out, or someone made you stopped. The bad doesn't stop… who made you?"

Wes grinned at the question. "My best friends in the world. I had to tell them what I was doing to myself, and… they told me that they would die for me. That really didn't help me at firt, but then… they said that they knew I would do the same. I don't know how, but it was what I needed to hear, and I stopped having nightmares, and it was like I had taken a shower. The bad washed away, like dirt. It felt really nice, now that someone knew and would be willing to help. I actually stopped. I threw the knife into the deepest body of water I could find, and didn't have to think that I was alone or unwanted anymore." He glanced down into Michael's eyes, and reached up a hand to brush the tears away. "And I want you to be able to feel the same way."

That seemed to do it. For the first time, Michael had a father figure, right there, able to talk to him about things no one else could know about. His shoulders started to shake, his tears came in a torrent and blurred his vision, and for the first time since before Citadark Isle, he cried.

Wes pulled him to him, knowing that this was necessary, especially for one so young. He rubbed his back and rocked him.

Michael latched onto him immediately, like a leech. He didn't care; he needed his sort of release. He needed to cry. And he had a bad feeling that he would end up doing a lot of that.

Wes pet his head and back, trying to shush him, but he did allow him to cry. Finally, after a while of rocking and petting and sobbing, Michael fell asleep in Wes's arms, and for the first time in a long time, he slept in peace. Wes was debating whether or not to bring him inside, but soon decided that he should before he froze. He lifted him a little, and was about to carry him in, when he heard the stopping of a very large pokemon. He glanced up, and smiled, now choosing to carry the child over to his herd of pokemon that were too large to fit inside.

How was that? Better? C'mon people, please review! Please! :'( I didn't think that this story was bad... at all, really... Fine, whatever. Just please, please review!

With love...

Ja ne! :-)